


Warm Welcome

by smoth



Series: On Ice (Troffy ice skating AU) [1]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Barebacking, Gen, Ice skater au, Lingerie, M/M, Reunion Sex, let smith moan 2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 16:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19949332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoth/pseuds/smoth
Summary: Smith has just come home from a business trip, and he gets a warm welcome, wrapped in lace.I found this in a big folder of drafts, so I cleaned it up and decided to post it here :)





	Warm Welcome

Smith gripped the flimsy, empty plastic water bottle, then released the pressure on it, methodically, inhaling and exhaling along with each squeeze. The auburn haired man had one hand wrapped around the bottle and one wedged below his chin - unshaven for the two months he had been away - whilst his elbow was just below the car window. His eyes remained on the sunrise outside. 

The skyline of the big city was nothing special when you lived there, Smith mused. When he and Trott had first moved in, they spent hours just staring out of Ross’ studio windows and smiling, like this is what they had been missing all their lives. Sunlight over some buildings. A concrete jungle. 

Smith inhales again, and turns to face the back of Sips’ head. The older man was driving, having slept the whole night (loudly) while Smith had driven from Aberdeen to Cardiff with the radio blasting, fuelled on a six-pack of Red Bull. Sips is without a cap, in the car, and it’s almost strange to see him without it.    
  
Smith blinks again, thinks of Trott. 

He didn’t want to come on this training convention, and Smith couldn’t blame him. The last time he’d seen him in person, not over the terrible laptop webcams and Skype, he was falling asleep standing up, and flat out refused to even get out of bed until 3pm one day. So Smith had gone - with Sips - to Sweden, where it was held. Skaters from all over Europe had attended to share new training exercises, and they all went out for drinks and meals and made some good friends, promised to look out for each other in soon-to-be competitions.   
  


‘ _Say hello to Chris, won’t you_ ’s and ‘ _Tell your friend that his form is excellent_ ’ had been noted in the dancer’s mind, ready for when he finally got home. He was expecting Trott to be sedated, again, even though it had been 3 months since he was last like that. Most of Smith just wanted to curl up with his partner and sleep.    
  
It was way better than the Chris-shaped-pillow he had to make and awkwardly spoon in the hotel bed in Gothenburg just to get to sleep.

\- - -

“Alright, man. Your stop.” Sips managed his best impression of a cab driver, as they arrived. Mid-afternoon, and Smith was half asleep in the backseat. He wiped drool from his chin.    
  
“Thanks, mate. Open the boot?”    
  
The taller man stumbled out of the car and breathed in fresh, English air. It was cold, obviously, but luckily not raining. That would have just been unpleasant.    
  
He opened up the trunk of Sips’ off-roader and reached over the older man’s golf clubs to rummage for his own bags. He grabbed hold of a mystery bag handle and tugged, and only then felt hands around his waist, a face at his shoulder.    
  
“Need some help, there?” Trott’s smooth tones were very welcome to Smith’s tired ears. He turned around and smiled down at his boyfriend; just in some sweatpants and a hoodie (perfect, obviously.) His cheekbones glinted in the sunlight as he tilted his head to regard Smith’s lazy smile.    
  
“‘Ello, gorgeous.” He slipped his arms around the smaller man, and pressed them close, just inhaling the smell of home.    
  
“Says you. God, you need a shave.” Trott laughed, pressing a kiss to Smith’s cheek. “Come on. We can cuddle inside, with your bags.” He turned again, reached into the trunk and dragged out Smith’s gym bags. 

They both waved Sips off, and took the bags and themselves back up the three flights of stairs to their apartment. 

“I missed you so much, you have no idea.” Smith mumbled as Trott held the door open with a knee.    
  
Smith slipped into the apartment and dropped his bag down next to the umbrella stand. Trott closed the door, and smiled.“If it was anything close to as much as I did, then I do have an idea.” 

Smith smiled back, sweetly, and leaned down for a slow kiss. Lazy. 

Which was quickly dismissed when Trott all but threw the bag down, and slammed Smith against the door, their bodies clashing and mouths colliding. 

Lewd moans were muted by lips and tongues, an occasional laugh falling from breathless voices when noses bumped or front teeth clicked. There, they rutted against each other, Trott’s thigh shoved between Smith’s thicker ones. Smith hauled Trott up by his hips when the door became too uncomfortable, walking them upstairs and tossing Trott onto their (very neatly kept) bed.    
  
Smith crawled over him and smiled, devilishly, making Trott laugh. Smith leaned down and trailed wet kisses down the dancer’s neck, pausing when the hoodie constricted his shoulder. He frowned; how was it constricting like that? Almost like a strap. Hoodies didn’t have straps. Was he  _ that _ tired? Dreaming?

Smith poked it through the hoodie fabric. “Whassat?” He purred, and sat on his haunches. Now was Trott’s turn to smile devilishly, as he shucked the jumper. Smith took in a quiet intake of breath.  _ He really hoped he wasn’t dreaming. _   
  
Trott was dressed in very lavish red lingerie. Lacy, and not at all ruined, like his other sets (thanks to Smith’s rough handedness). It was obviously new, and had cost. The bra was flat against his chest, the fasteners and strap adjusters bright and shining gold. The red was bright, postbox, and stood out beautifully against the man’s olive skin. Smith breathed heavily. 

Trott tossed his head to one side. “Gonna just sit there and ogle, or do you want to see the rest of the set?” He tugged at the waistband of his trousers temptingly. Smith reached forward, still barren of comments.    
  
Tugging the sweatpants down the older man’s thighs revealed a matching thong. Red lace, with suspender belts, clasping onto sheer red stockings that came up to half way up Trott’s thigh. Smith wanted to paint his boyfriend’s skin with bruises, to see what the red would look like among blues and purples, see what the bra would look like above a heaving chest, panting- 

Trott kissed at Smith’s cheek, and he snapped back into the present.    
  
“Thought you’d like a gift to come home to, really. I was expecting you to go right ahead with ruining it already, like the other ones. I’m already past my cling to these ones.” He slid a finger under the hem of one of the stockings, then snapped it back against his thigh. Smith noticed the skin there was softer than when he had left. He smiled, a little.   
  
“Your cling? You been breaking them in?” He murmured, pulling off his own shirt and watching as Trott snuck back underneath Smith.    
  
“Just been wearing them around the house, really.” He paused, then held Smith’s wrists loosely. Not as restraint, but rather a gentle reminder. “I missed you.”

Smith nodded, leaned down to capture Trott’s lips in a much slower and deeper kiss than before. As they sucked at each other’s lips and gasped quietly, Smith’s hand snaked down and pressed against the lace that cupped Trott’s half hard dick and squeezed gently, and made Trott groan into his mouth.    
  
The kiss evolved into becoming something more passionate and kind, lips searing as they moved with intent, Trott leaning back completely so he was flush against the mattress, hips occasionally grinding upwards with Smith’s hand. Trott instead reached one of his own hands around to Smith’s ass, grabbing a generous handful of the flesh there and gripping. Smith let go of Trott’s cock and writhed quietly. Trott’s smile turned wicked against the taller man’s lips. 

“Get some lube, won’t you?” Trott tapped at Smith’s hip. The auburn haired man nodded, reached for their bedside cabinet.    
  
“Are you going to keep them on, while I fuck you?”    
  
“Who said you were fucking me?” Trott grinned again, and Smith bit his lip. “And yes. They’re not coming off.”

Smith smiled, chucking the half-empty bottle onto the bed while the shorter man pushed the duvet onto the floor. 

Trott opened up the bottle and slicked up three fingers while Smith kicked out of his underwear and jeans. The taller man got comfortable, face down in the pillows, ass in the air, while Trott trailed a finger down his lower back and pressed inside, straight up to the knuckle. Smith’s features quickly smoothed out to blissful as Trott carried on working him open. It had been a while. 

One finger quickly became two, the shorter man snorting at the occasional wet sound that made Smith squirm. Trott pressed a kiss between his big boyfriend’s shoulder blades as he added a third finger, and soothed out the burn with more kisses to his back and tiny bites on his sides. 

Smith rises onto his elbows and knees, chest heaving, slowly turning to putty, flowing perfectly in tune with each thrust of Trott’s hand as he fucked into him lazily. 

Trott pulled his hand free and reached for the hoodie on the floor to wipe away the lube on his hand. “Ready, sweetheart?” He held Smith’s hip in one hand and tugged the panties down to loosen the strain on his cock with the other, slowly pumping himself.    
  
Smith swallowed heavily. “Yeah. But-”    
  
“Hm?”    
  
The taller man’s back sagged down in embarrassment. “Don’t pull out?” 

Trott bit his lip, and nodded. He tapped Smith’s hip twice, and pushed the head of his cock against Smith slowly. Trott narrowed his eyes, though they were twinkling knowingly as his long hands gripped onto the flesh at Smith’s hips, before pushing his own forward until they were flush against each other; Trott’s thin waist against Smith’s.

Smith let out a grunt as he was filled, hands clawing at the sheets. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and squeezed his eyes shut. He hardly waited a few seconds before pushing back further, a signal that it was okay to move.    
  
And move, Trott did.  He didn’t go slowly, or gently. Not that Smith minded. 

He pulled back almost as quickly as he had slammed in the first time, and set a pace that left no room for delicacy. Smith let his head fall down and scrunched up his face, trying to keep his noises to himself (he never sounded good during good sex). Trott let his hands find their usual spots when they had nights like this, both digging into Smith’s waist and pulling him back onto his dick. 

The shorter dancer’s pace grew almost punishing, the slap of skin on skin nearly as deafening as the taller’s constant string of huffs and strained moans. The feeling of the stockings against the backs of Smith’s thighs was almost hypnotic.

Smith’s hand flew to his own cock as Trott sped up, the rhythm impossibly fast. He tried to jerk himself in time with the brutal pace, pleasure just coursing through his veins. They were both on the edge, overcome with the rush of being together again, of missing each other for so long. There was only so much that midnight masturbation Skype calls could fulfil, after all. 

Trott reached down to grab a handful of Smith’s ass and leaned down to kiss and bite at the freckled back of his partner, thankful for his own flexibility, before slamming himself in as deep and as hard as he could manage. He stopped then, teeth gritted as he let himself come. Trott let himself catch his breath, barely, hips still rolling as he squeezes the taller’s ass, giving a playful little slap. Smith tensed for what seemed like the thousandth time, and came on the sheets, hot white streaking the clean linen. 

Trott breathed deeply, giving one last squeeze to Smith’s waist as he pulled out. Smith smiled filthily as he felt come drip out of him, ass still proudly in the air. 

“You’re… terrible.” The shorter said, quietly. 

“I am.” Smith agreed, flopping onto his side to face Trott, who made a face at the mess he was making. Trott moved to the edge of the mattress, and Smith groaned. “Troooott. Cuddle me.”

“Hell no. We’re both sweaty and I need to get these and us washed, then we can cuddle all night.” Trott grunted as he stood up, brushing his hair out of his sticky face. Smith refused to move, scowling at the long lines of Trott’s back. “Come on, Smith, shower.”

Trott turned around, hands on his hips. The taller changed his scowl to a small pout, his arms opened wide, half-lidded cerulean eyes beckoning for the shorter to join him. 

“... Is this your way of saying no?”

Smith nodded, a horrid smile on his face. Trott snarled at a bead of sweat that rolled down Smith’s forehead. 

Trott knew, deep in his heart, that he wouldn’t win this. He sat down, and let himself press his back against Smith’s chest, sighing as those big arms wrapped around him and made him feel like the smallest thing in the world. 

“At least you haven’t changed.” he whispered.

“No number of days away’s gonna change me, mate.” 

“Or the fact that you hate washing after sex.” 

Smith barked a laugh. “Definitely not!” He buried his nose in Trott’s hair, and took a deep inhale. Trott shut his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips.


End file.
